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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28393668">Comfort Food</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexStone/pseuds/AlexStone'>AlexStone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comfort Food, Fluff and Angst, Multi, Pre-Fellowship, Winter Solstice</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:15:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,748</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28393668</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexStone/pseuds/AlexStone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the winter after Bilbo's departure from the Shire, Merry and Pippin help Frodo with a Bag End tradition.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frodo Baggins &amp; Merry Brandybuck &amp; Sam Gamgee &amp; Pippin Took</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Comfort Food</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On long winter nights, the residents of Hobbiton took comfort in each other. Hobbits scurried between the darkness, with lanterns in hand, darting for the safety of a warm smial and a full table. Few held suspicions about the long night of the winter solstice. In truth, respectable hobbits didn’t believe such things, especially not in public. Still, when the last light faded and night crept over the West Farthing, some looked nervously to the yawning darkness of the Old Forest, with a familiar fear that something looked back at them.</p><p>Bag End sat solitary atop the slow rise of Bagshot Row. Light flickered in its windows, casting long shadows into frost covered gardens. A carriage emblazoned with the Took coat of arms sat parked off the road. A squat pony munched from a feed sack, whinnying disapprovingly at a thieving squirrel.</p><p>Merry Brandybuck reclined in an armchair beside the roaring fire. Frodo and Pippin were distantly arguing. Merry took a long drag from his pipe and blew smoke rings into the air. It had been a few months since Bilbo’s prompt departure from the Shire, with this the first winter solstice for Frodo as master of Bag End.</p><p>Pippin stormed into the study, brandishing a dusty bottle of Turckborough Red.</p><p>“Merry, talk sense to your cousin,” Pippin gestured to Frodo, who had followed the young Master Took into the study. “He is trying to serve us <em>merlot</em>.”</p><p>“I’m your cousin too,” Frodo said, snatching the wine from Pippin’s hands.</p><p>“Distant cousins, and I’m beginning to doubt that,” Pippin scowled. “Really Frodo, this is barbaric.”</p><p>“You’ll have the merlot,” Frodo exited the room, yelling over his shoulder. “And you’ll like it!”</p><p>Pippin groaned, crossing the study and collapsing in the chair opposite Merry. Pippin made a gesture for Merry to pass him the pipe-weed pouch, which Merry obliged. A heavy scent filled the study as Pippin packed the end of his pipe, before lighting a match.</p><p>“Are you going to behave?” Merry asked, eyebrow raised.</p><p>“Merry, I’m being an angel,” Pippin exhaled a steady stream of smoke into the air, which swirled and drifted towards an ajar window. “I still think we should have gone to the Green Dragon, or Took Manor. Hell, even Brandy Hall throws a good party.”</p><p>“Cotton doesn’t open the Green Dragon for solstice, Brandy Hall is too far for Sam to travel,” Merry listed the reasons on his fingers. “Your family are unbearable snobs, and Frodo has always celebrated solstice with Bilbo in Bag End. So we are staying in Bag End, and you are going to be a model of good company.”</p><p>Pippin rolled his eyes, before making a cherubic expression and batting his eyelashes at Merry. Merry snorted and looked around the study. Bag End still wore Bilbo’s presence like a thick morning mist. The book arrangements, the writing implements, the furniture. It all seemed to be squeezing around Bilbo’s outsized personality.</p><p>Frodo returned from the cellar, several bottles of red wine balanced under arm. Frodo’s hair had grown long since his birthday, which he had taken to tying into a short ponytail. <em>At least he knows how to clean his own clothes</em>, Merry thought, admiring Bag End’s seemingly endless supply of lounge-wear.</p><p>“Come on, you two,” Frodo gestured to the kitchen. “Sam will be here in a few hours. We’ve got to get dinner ready.”</p><p>Pippin shot Merry a dirty look, and Merry silently shook his head. Both followed Frodo into the kitchen, where fresh produce lay strewn around countertops. Carrots lay piled next to potatoes and parsnips. A leg of pork was hanging in a drying cabinet, alongside a plucked pheasant. Merry watched Frodo put the wine bottles in the sink, before turning to survey the kitchen.</p><p>Frodo looked at Merry. Merry looked at Frodo. Pippin looked at them both.</p><p>“So…” Merry hesitated, “what’s the plan?”</p><p>“Right, the plan,” Frodo frowned, and turned to rifle through loose folders of recipes. “There’s a plan here somewhere. Bilbo memorised a lot of his recipes, but I got him to write some down last year.”</p><p>Pippin started fiddling with a rack of kitchen knives. Merry smacked Pippin’s hand and moved his cousin away from the sharp objects. Merry rounded on Frodo, who was still leafing through recipe books.</p><p>“You have cooked this meal before, haven’t you?” Merry asked.</p><p>“Of course I have!” Frodo protested. “Not this meal, precisely. But something similar. I’ve done soups, and breakfasts. Don’t look at me like that. Okay, yes, Sam makes breakfast. But I help!”</p><p>Merry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Despite being is elder, Frodo Baggins reminded Merry of a young Brandybuck bachelor, all high ideas with no experience. <em>Pippin and him are cut from the same cloth, </em>Merry thought. He shooed Frodo from the counter, and squinted at Bilbo’s swirling cursive.</p><p>Merry Brandybuck was a passable chef. Brandy Hall, like Took Manor, had its share of staff who attended to the needs of the family. Despite this, Merry’s grandmother had always insisted upon making her own meals. This continued even into her old age, much to the horror of the family. <em>They think I’m only good for tea parties and idle chatter, </em>she would tell a young Merry, brandishing shucking knife in one hand and oyster shell in the other. <em>I didn’t come to this family with a silver spoon, and I’ll be damned if they force one into my mouth. </em>Merry remembered sitting on the kitchen counter and helping his grandmother peel potatoes, listening to endless stories of family feuds and foibles until he felt dizzy. Even decades after her passing, Merry smell the flour in her hair, and hear her low, nimble voice.</p><p>“Frodo, you will want to make a rub for the meat. Nothing too complicated, look for brown sugar, salt, cayenne pepper, and cumin. Once you’re finished we can get that into the oven,” Merry grabbed a fistful of aprons and tossed them to his cousins. “Pip, you’re on vegetable prep. Get these carrots and onions chopped into rough pieces. Not too small. I’ll start on some puddings.”</p><p>Frodo disappeared into the pantry, delighted to have some instructions. Merry gathered Bilbo’s notes and returned them to the cabinet where they had come from. He turned to see Pippin stood with a sheepish expression. Merry felt a nerve in his temple that only his cousin could pinch.</p><p>“Pip, do you know how to chop vegetables?” Merry asked, trying desperately not to sound sarcastic.</p><p>Pippin sucked air through his teeth. He looked over the gathered bowl of produce. “I might be out of practice…” he hesitated.</p><p>Merry felt his eyes narrow.</p><p>“Don’t you start!” Pippin protested. “No one lets me near the kitchen. Not since I… well, the incident with the pipe and the vodka… besides, we have staff who do this for us!”</p><p>Merry struggled to maintain his composure. “The future Thain…” he muttered. “Come on. I’ll show you.”</p><p>The two washed their hands before returning to the table. Merry took a pair of butter knives and got his cousin to mirror a safe chopping technique. When he felt confident that Pippin was not going to lose his finger, Merry gave his cousin a chopping knife and a bowl of peeled carrots. Merry watched with bated breath as Pipin gingerly cut through carrots, letting out a small yelp when the knife snapped right through the vegetable and into the chopping board. With gentle encouragement Pippin continued, his frown melting as his confidence grew.</p><p>Merry set Pippin to boiling some water as he returned to the meat. Frodo had finished the rub, and together they hoisted it into the oven. Merry then set Frodo to rolling miniature sausages in strips of bacon. The windows of the kitchen began to condense with the heat of hobbits hard at work. Rich aromas of roasting meat began to fill the air, and Merry felt his stomach rumble.</p><p>“Do you remember the first summer we stayed in Bag End with Frodo?” Pippin asked, absentmindedly, stirring boiling vegetables. “We found that map, the one with the mountain and the dwarven runes. We were convinced that it was a treasure map, and we were going to find a dragon under Bagshot Row.”</p><p>“Was that the same summer Bilbo tried to tell us that he was magic, and that he could read our minds?” Merry asked. “I remember you got scared because you thought there was a ghost in Bag End.”</p><p>“You were scared too, Merry,” Frodo laughed, whisking a syrupy glaze in a bowl. “Bilbo hated that summer. He was certain that it was punishment from Seradoc for missing a birthday. He wasn’t great with children.”</p><p>“Are you kidding? He adored you,” Pippin flicked some water in Frodo’s direction.</p><p>“The exception that proves the rule,” Frodo conceded, “Bilbo couldn’t stand big occasions, unless he was in charge of every detail. That’s why his birthday was always so extravagant.”</p><p>Merry and Pippin looked at each other. Frodo frowned, aware that he wasn’t privy to this silent conversation.</p><p>“What?” Frodo asked.</p><p>“Bilbo didn’t throw those parties for himself,” Pippin started.</p><p>Merry interrupted, gesturing to his cousin that he should tell this story. “Do you remember Uncle Merimac? He shared a birthday month with Bilbo. He told me that, when Bilbo was young, they used to share a birthday party. But after Bilbo went on his journey with those dwarves, he stopped celebrating his birthday. He barely acknowledge Lithe, or the solstice, or most parties. He liked to celebrate alone, with his books.”</p><p>“It’s true,” Pippin piped in, “my mom told me that she couldn’t get Bilbo to a Tuckborough party if she paid him. People started to think Bilbo had cracked, or that he had always been cracking.”</p><p>“Some of the family thought he needed space,” Merry continued, gesturing that Pippin shouldn’t use the <em>c-</em>word. “One winter, my dad got a letter from Bag End. It was Bilbo, asking for the family’s solstice dinner recipes. He wanted everything, no matter how complicated, no matter the cost. He was going to through the biggest solstice feast in Hobbiton, and invite all the residents of Bagshot Row.”</p><p>Frodo frowned. “What changed?”</p><p>Merry paused, putting his hands on the counter.</p><p>“Frodo, you beautiful idiot. It was you,” Pippin said. Merry was surprised at the softness in his cousin’s voice, low and gentle as a summer breeze. “Bilbo did it for you. Birthdays. Lithe. Winter festivals. Bilbo threw enough parties that he forgot why he didn’t like them.”</p><p>Silence fell over the kitchen as hobbits looked at each other. Memories filled the room like unquiet ghosts. Memories of laughter that, to a young hobbit, distracted from devastating loss. Bilbo and Frodo, giggling at the wobble of a jelly cake, sneaking a shot of whiskey into a Sacksville-Baggins’ tea, wrapping presents for the growing Gamgee family. Memories stood around the kitchen table, passing into vapour</p><p>“I…” Frodo hesitated, steadying his voice.</p><p>A sharp hiss made all three hobbits jump. Pippin turned to see the pot boil over, water bubbling over into the red-hot stove. Merry shouted a warning as Pippin went to grab the pot, before yelping at the scalding temperature. Frodo hurried to Pippin’s side, putting his hand in a bucket of cold water. Merry grabbed a thick cloth to shield his hands, and removed the boiled vegetables from the stove.</p><p>Hobbits looked to each other. Gasps of shock slowly turned into laughter, until each was doubled over, and there were no dry eyes. They were laughing so hard they almost missing the knock on Bag End’s front door.</p><p>“That’s your man,” Merry gasped, wiping tears from his eyes.</p><p>Frodo tried to compose himself, giggling all the way to the front door. Merry smiled at Pippin. Despite an abrasive personality and quick wit, Pippin had a heart as big as the Shire.</p><p>“It smells great in here!” Sam exclaimed, entering the kitchen. Sam was wearing a thick knitted jumper, and he held a small ceramic dish which filled the room with the scent of apple and cinnamon. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, and there was something about his smile that even Merry found disarming. <em>No wonder Frodo is head over heels for this one,</em> Merry thought.</p><p>“It has been a team effort,” Merry smiled, tossing a dishcloth over his shoulder. “But I think I have everything under control now. You all go set up the table, and Pip can pour some wine. He’s been recommending the malbec all night.”</p><p>Pippin glared at Merry, before disappearing in the direction of the wine cellar. Sam placed the pie on the counter and followed Frodo in the direction of the dining room. Merry smiled as he caught Frodo whisper something in Sam’s ear, which made Sam’s cheeks turn a darker shade of crimson.</p><p>Dinner was served in a blur of dishes. Pippin offered to carve the joint, which Frodo and Merry strongly objected to. Several bottles of wine later and they were laughing over memories of some drinking game that Merry had insisted on playing some years past.</p><p>“You almost gave Sam a heart-attack that night,” Frodo laughed, passing sprouts to Pippin.</p><p>“Oh no, Master Merry, I… *hic*…” Sam tried to regain his dignity, struggling through a mouthful of potatoes.</p><p>“Don’t you ‘Master Merry’ that one,” Pippin exclaimed, almost tossing sprouts into the air. “I’ll tell you something about young Lord Brandybuck. This one plays a responsible adult, but he’s seduced half of the Shire!”</p><p>“What about the other half?” Sam asked.</p><p>“He is currently seducing them!” Pippin roared with laughter.</p><p>They continued sharing stories and gossip from the far corners of the Shire. Pippin told them about a party he attended in Michel Delving, where he had tried a new human drink called ‘rum.’ Sam gave the latest gossip from the Green Dragon, about who was courting who, and which courtships had ended in disaster. Frodo drunkenly started talking about an elvish manuscript he had recently translated, and Pippin threatened to throw a plate at his head if he didn’t talk about something interesting. Each found their limits on food for the evening, reclining into their chairs with a glazed expression on their faces.</p><p>“You… should give a speech!” Sam slurred, gesturing to Frodo. “Bilbo always gave a speech at parties.”</p><p>“I can’t…” Frodo protested.</p><p>“Frodo, if you don’t give a speech right now… I am going to write you out of my will…“ Pippin gestured feebly at his older cousin.</p><p>“You don’t... Never mind. A speech,” Frodo stood from the table, raising a glass of wine.</p><p>“Thank you all for coming to Bag End’s first winter feast under new management. It might not be the celebration you are used to, and it certainly isn’t the one I expected. Still, we made of it what we could and, most importantly, only invited who we wanted.”</p><p>“Hear hear!” Merry exclaimed.</p><p>“Bag End is different now that Bilbo has left. I imagine few hobbits will manage to fill those shoes for quite some time. But, as Bilbo would say, different is not always bad, good is not always the same, and the same is not all it is cracked up to be.”</p><p>Pippin mouthed along to Frodo’s speech, struggling to keep pace with the rhetorical leaps.</p><p>“If this is the shape of winters to come, then I shall fear the dark and cold a little bit less. Friendship, and food, and yes Pippin, wine, is all we shall need.”</p><p>Frodo raised his glass. “A good hobbit once said that if you can’t go back, and you can’t go sideways, then forward is to the only thing to do. A toast then, to a hobbit who went before us. To Bilbo!”</p><p>“To Bilbo!” the table echoed, before draining their glasses.</p><p>The conversation continued heartily into the night, with song and jokes and stories that faded into glowing embers. As Sam and Frodo retired to their bedroom, Merry sat in front of the fireplace, watching the last of the glowing coals through half closed eyes. As he faded slowly into dreams, he saw another hobbit sat opposite him. This hobbit, small in stature, with a mess of brown hair, green velvet breeches, and a mustard waistcoat, watched Merry sleep with an expression of gentle delight. The hobbit’s eyes twinkled in the fading firelight, and as Merry lost himself to sleep he would later swear he heard a low voice, singing of a cold, misty mountain.</p>
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